


A Distraction

by sasswolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Masturbation, sad Isaac is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:58:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasswolf/pseuds/sasswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He needed a distraction, a release. The stress that had been building inside of him since seeing Derek fall to his apparent death was becoming overwhelming. He needed to clear his mind, forget about the world, if only for a short while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> Okay okay, so this started off as something for my new Isaac rp blog (http://isaac-lahey-basically.tumblr.com) and somehow it turned into porn. Idk, sometimes I just feel like the poor precious baby Isaac needs to take a break and get his mind off of all the abuse the writers are putting him through. ):

After the events that took place the night before, it was safe to say that Isaac felt more shaken than he had in a long while. Just the thought of someone, this _Darach_ , getting inside of his head: seeing the things that he tries so desperately to forget, was severely unnerving. Those were the memories that too often would wake him from his sleep, shaking, cold sweat soaking his sheets, gasping for breath and nearly screaming.

It was hard enough after the incident with Allison. She and Scott knew what had set him off. They saw the freezer, knew how his father tortured him. He trusted Scott undoubtedly, yet still he was afraid. He was afraid to let people know. Back then, when his father was still alive, such a thing was unthinkable. If anyone found out…no…if anyone had even the slightest idea of how his father treated him, there would be consequences to pay. Punishments. Awful punishments.

So after the bus arrived at the school, after he and Scott made their way back to the McCall’s house on Scott’s bike, he went straight to his room. (Well, the room that Mrs. McCall had been kind enough to give him.) He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want Scott to ask questions, even though he knew that he would only ask them with good intentions. Because he knew what they must all be thinking.

Everyone else tried to kill themselves. Sawing themselves in half, drowning themselves, lighting themselves on fire; they tried to do what the Darach intended them to do, driven by the abuse that was implanted into their minds. So they must be wondering: why, then, was Isaac, poor little precious Isaac, simply hiding under the bed?

He was used to it. Used to being blamed for everything. It was his fault that his mother was gone, his fault that his brother was dead, and if his father were alive, it would also be his fault that he was murdered. He was, quite simply, used to it.

He needed a distraction, a release. The stress that had been building inside of him since seeing Derek fall to his apparent death was becoming overwhelming. He needed to clear his mind, forget about the world, if only for a short while. Maybe an hour or so. That should do the job. By "job", of course, he was thinking of only one thing. Since moving in with werewolves, it was only rarely that he would have the opportunity to partake in some "alone time". At the present moment, however, he could hear that Scott had already fallen fast asleep in his bedroom down the hall and any chance of him being noticed was slim at best. Now was a better time than ever.

Sighing, he pushed himself off of his bed and locked the bedroom door with a soft "click". For a moment, he contemplated whether or not to get dressed into his night clothes. He decided, however, that he was quite tired enough to resent the idea of having to deal with any potentially messy cleanups afterwards. Instead, he flicked off the light and climbed back onto his bed. The room was dark, but the street lamps just outside shed enough yellow light into his window so that he didn't even need the aid of his supernatural vision. He laid his head onto his pillow heavily with another sigh, trying to clear his thoughts. Reaching over to his nightstand, he opened the drawer and grabbed a bottle of lotion. Scott had given it to him, actually. Just an off-handed, "Hey, you want this?" and a toss in his direction. At the time, he was a bit perplexed as to why Scott thought he would need it: werewolves don't get dry skin. Now, though, he felt a blush climb to his cheeks as he realized that Scott probably wasn't thinking about the item's dermatological benefits.

After setting the bottle next to him, he reached down to unbutton his jeans. It wasn't until he felt the gentle brush of his hand against the front of his boxers that he realized just how much he needed this. Feeling a bit impatient now, but not willing to ruin the experience, he pulled the jeans down his thighs to give him just enough room to palm himself through the thin fabric. The sensation sent an unexpected shiver through his body and he let out a shuddered breath. It had definitely been too long.

He continued to feel himself through his underwear, reaching down to cup his hand around his balls and slowly bring it upwards, fingers curved around the shape of his slowly-hardening length. He could hear his own heartbeat begin to steadily rise and, suddenly, he wondered if Scott might wake up. How light of a sleeper was he? If he awoke to hear what Isaac was doing to himself, what would he think of him? His worries were gone in an instant, however, when he remembered that Scott was a teenage boy as well and that it was _him_ who gave Isaac the lotion he was going to be using momentarily in the first place.

Ah, the lotion. Remembering it sitting beside him, he carefully shimmied his underwear and jeans down to rest by his knees, giving him ample room for what he was about to do next. He flipped open the top of the bottle as quietly as he could manage and squeezed a fair amount onto the palm of his hand. He carefully distributed the lotion and began to work his slicked hand up and down along the length of his shaft, tightening and releasing his grip as he went to suit his liking. He laid his head back down and released a deep breath. All he had to think about at this moment was this. He closed his eyes and put all of his concentration on the feeling of his hand and slowly rising pressure in his stomach. He was fully hard now, and he began to tease his head, quickly running his thumb over the tip and pulling a breathless gasp out of himself.

He was growing impatient again and he resolved to tighten his grip. He had to bite his lip to fight back the moan. When he tasted blood, the fact that he was shifting slightly caught his attention. He had fangs, and hey, he could clearly see the reflection of his bright yellow eyes in the window beside him. Though he tried to restrain himself, god forbid he wake up Scott with any involuntary noises, he gave in to reaching his free hand under his shirt. Still stoking himself with his other hand, he brushed one of his fingers over a nipple, trying his hardest to keep them from being clawed. He thought of how it might feel, to accidentally scratch himself, to draw blood with his loss of control. Or perhaps it could be someone else's claws, someone like Scott, on his hips or on his back, digging into his skin and drawing crimson liquid from his pale flesh. Not with intent to seriously injure, of course. He would heal instantly. Or would he? What if it was an alpha? Perhaps Derek? The scratches would take hours or even days to completely vanish. He would be marked.

At that thought, he began to quicken his pace, stroking faster and harder, twisting his wrist as he worked himself. He was honestly surprised with himself, how such images could turn him on, but to him any thoughts besides the ones that had been plaguing his mind lately were welcomed with open arms. So he kept thinking, kept imagining the sensations that someone could make him feel. What it would be like to be shoved, or bitten, or restrained. Scott, of course, would be gentle. He would ask repeatedly if it was okay, if it was too much. But he knows him. He knows that Scott is kind, but he's a force to be reckoned with when it comes to getting what he wants. And Derek, Derek wouldn't be nearly as considerate, though he feels that it wouldn't make the experience any less enjoyable. What about a human? A human would never be able to dominate him like that. Well, if he ever found himself with a human, he would just have to be the one in control. Like Stiles, so fragile and easily bruised. He's seen it, seen him get scuffed up enough times to really appreciate how being a super-healing werewolf can be a gift. Stiles always seems to be getting hurt; stumbling, falling, getting into trouble. It's almost like he does it on purpose. Maybe he asks for it. Maybe he _gets off on it_.

That thought sends his nervous system into overdrive. He can feel his release rapidly approaching, the pressure quickly coiling tighter and tighter in the pit of his stomach. He can feel himself wolfing out again, and he strains to real his claws in. It's pointless, though, because he's grabbing the sheets with his other hand and he can hear his fingers tearing through them. He'd forgotten about keeping quiet. Melissa's away at work, but he quickly listens for Scott. Luckily, he can still hear the steady breathing of his sleeping. It's a good thing, too, because soon the noise of bed springs joins that of his grunts and moans as he begins to rock his hips, thrusting desperately into his hand.

He comes hard, remembering just in time to turn his head and bite into the pillow to prevent himself from waking Scott with a loud moan. He spills out onto his stomach, shirt still hiked up from before. Good, he thinks. Scott would be able to smell that in his dirty laundry for days. He let's out a sigh as he collapses into his mattress, thoroughly spent. He resolves to get up in a few minutes to clean himself but, before he knows it, he's falling into a peaceful sleep. In fact, it's the most peaceful sleep he's had in a while.

In the morning, he awakes with a start. Scott's knocking on his door, telling him that breakfast is ready downstairs. Isaac starts to sit up and he cringes at the feeling of dried cum on his stomach. He feels himself getting hot with embarrassment as realization hits him. Scott could totally smell that.

Well, at least he wouldn't know what thoughts made it happen.


End file.
